


It Didn't Mean Anything

by YustinaMishka



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Geralt is a little slow, Getting Together, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Public Display of Affection, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, no beta we die like witchers, slight angst OOPS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YustinaMishka/pseuds/YustinaMishka
Summary: Geralt has a habit of dismissing physical affection as "nothing".Jaskier begs to differ.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 711





	It Didn't Mean Anything

Geralt of Rivia is a man of action.

Whether it be swinging his sword inside a selkiemore or punching a Sylvan in the balls, Geralt would always rely on the movements of his body to live in this world. He was a man of few words and choice grunts if speech needed be. Other than that, Geralt had no business with others.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is a man who would probably die if pressed to be silent for more than a second.

The bard was brimming with songs of different varities. Taverns and inns from towns ranging from north to south have heard of Jaskier’s voice paired with his trusty lute. He had a charisma in him which grows with the crowd’s joyful applause. If anything, their cheers and attention invigorates the bard.

Geralt thought that in itself was tiring. _Annoying._

He was sorely mistaken.

“Geralt!” Jaskier beamed from where he was standing on a wooden bench, leg bent at a comfortable angle to accomodate his lute. The bard’s face was flushed, a bright grin on his face, after what looked like a successful performance. Geralt merely grunted before swallowing his ale that tasted a little bit like piss.

There was a joyful jingle of coins that accompanied Jaskier as he practically trapezed through a semi-drunken crowd, heading straight for the white haired witcher. Geralt closed his eyes, bracing for impact for—

“Oof!” Jaskier giddily sighed as he cuddled with Geralt’s free arm. He always got like this when the people of the new town they visited were the perky and generous bunch with Jaskier’s newly composed songs. Geralt tried to maintain a stoic posture even if his gut felt a little warm due to the comforting touch.

And _that_...

That’s the true pain for Geralt. Goddamn hugs and shit.

“—and I’m sure that fair lady Genevieve was showing a rather promising interest once I touched that low note,” Jaskier babbled aimlessly as his hand snaked to capture Geralt’s tankard of ale. The witcher made an annoyed face.

“And so—“ Jaskier gulped before spitting out the godawful liquid in an embarrassing spray. The corner of Geralt’s mouth quirked in a playful smirk before he grabbed the tankard from the choking bard.

“What is that thing!?” Jaskier shrieked inelegantly.

Geralt shrugged, “Ale? Piss water? Take your pick.”

The bard slapped away the offending liquor before calling the bartender for a much better drink and a rather healthy dinner for the both of them. No doubt Jaskier is itching to spend his coin on finer things now that he had earned plenty. Their accomodations for tonight certainly won’t be some cold, hard ground in the middle of a noisy forest.

The tavern’s noise dwindled into soft chatters and the ocassional obnoxious laughter from a rowdy patron. It was a rather pleasant atmosphere since the lot of these townspeople didn’t seem to reek of fear at the mere presence of a witcher. If only Jaskier didn’t cling like a leech on Geralt.

“Must we sit like this?” Geralt grumbled lowly with a pinched face. Jaskier’s arm was currently hooked on the witcher’s left arm. They were seated intimately close for a huge bench. It’s making Geralt’s eyebrow rise.

Jaskier didn’t seem fazed by the touching and pouted, “Hmm? Why not? It’s rather nice with what your witcher-y body temperature is doing. The night is rather cold, Geralt! I’d rather avoid its icy claws.”

“You don’t look cold,” Geralt countered.

“Nonsense! I can practically hear the autumn wail as winter takes its place!” Jaskier squawked indignantly before further cuddling with his companion. If this has been done to him by Jaskier in the earlier stages of their... _companionship_ , Geralt would have shoved the bard to the nearest trough. As it stands now, they have been travelling together for years on and off. The witcher now knew that Jaskier was simply a man who craved physical touch. At first, Geralt was wary and confused about Jaskier’s behavior. It wasn’t until the bard met another one of his friends and practically smothered them with his affections. Jaskier meant it platonically. Geralt can accept that.

“I crave the day when Geralt of Rivia will no longer fear the wonderous effects of touch,” Jaskier grinned, prompting the witcher to try and half-heartedly dislodge the bard. Jaskier apologized if only to stop Geralt from making him fall off the bench.

The lady serving their food was kind enough not to comment on their current situation, though she was not merciful as to spare Geralt from a cheeky wink. The white haired witcher grunted a complaint before Jaskier finally released his hold on Geralt’s arm.

Again, the touching did not mean anything.

Geralt was _fine_ with that. _Somehow._

* * *

“G-Geralt!” Jaskier stuttered in fear as he cowered where Roach was tied nearby.

They were in some dense swamp that looked more like a nightmare conjured by some deranged witch rather than some sort of weird variety of nature. The looming trees were crooked and bent in odd angles, singed into the color of black with soot covering its roots. The fog was getting thicker, making it harder for Jaskier to keep an eye on the witcher.

Geralt paid no mind to Jaskier in the meantime. He was too focused on finding the mysterious creature that decided to make a meal out of young maidens. The townspeople had been hysterical and offered a hefty sum of coin. They cannot afford to lose this monster.

As it was, Geralt’s eyes scanned the area like a hawk.

The swamp was awfully quiet. Even the sounds of cicadas and birdsongs were missing, leaving the stretch of shrubs and lines of trees in a state of eerie silence. Roach snorted, stomping her hoof on the squelching ground. There was something in the trees.

The fog grew thicker, making it impossible to see past an arm’s length with just regular human eyes. Jaskier made a whimpering sound as he uselessly tried to wave away the air. The witcher tried not to pay too much attention to the bard. His mutated eyes could see well enough. Something was coming for them and his silver sword is ready to drink blood.

Geralt almost jumped out of his skin, gripping his sword tightly and aiming for a blow, when a cold hand grabbed his own. The witcher sighed in relief when he saw it was merely Jaskier with his frightened cornflower blue eyes. Geralt refused to make a sound and simply made a face at his idiot companion.

_‘Do you want to get killed? What’s wrong with you?’_

Thankfully, the bard knew that talking wasn’t an option. Jaskier merely mouthed something as he eyed a particular area in the forest.

_‘I saw something.’_

Geralt frowned. There was definitely something stalking them but he can’t pinpoint what it is just yet. The wind was bringing a mixed cocktail of scents, further confusing him to the identity of the monster that is waiting in the darkness to make a meal out them.

Jaskier gulped as he clung tightly to Geralt. He knew better than to be an obstruction to the witcher but what the bard saw must have terrified him deeply. Geralt frowned, smelling the acrid scent of fear and distress. The witcher did not like smelling fear on Jaskier’s skin.

Without much thought, Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hand comfortingly. It was strange, for the witcher knew nothing of comforting touches other than those shared in bed to coax pleasure out of a partner. Now, it was as if assuring safety and protection for Jaskier is an ingraned instinct. Better not think about it too much, Geralt hummed to himself.

At last, the creature finally announced its arrival and swooped down with its heavy, crooked claws.

_Cockatrice._

Geralt cursed as he pushed Jaskier away from danger, rolling through dried leaves and wet mud. The bard screamed the witcher’s name in a panic before stumbling blindly to find Roach. The horse was whinnying as it trashed at its reins. A second creature broke through the fog, leaving Jaskier trembling in fear.

“GERALT!” Jaskier screamed but had enough sense to untie Roach and lead the horse away from a stomping hulk of a creature. Roach urged Jaskier to mount and ride away but the bard was hestitant to leave his witcher with not only a cockatrice but with a rotfiend as well.

Fortunately, the cockatrice was weak and its wings looked damaged. Geralt made a quick work of the monster but not before getting his shoulder scratched deeply. The witcher made an _Aard_ sign, blowing away what is left of the cockatrice into the deep mud.

The rotfiend howled hauntingly, its looming rotten body hovering over a frightened bard who was holding his lute like it was a sword. Roach reared on her hind legs, trying to warn the creature to stay away. No doubt that Roach would be nipping on Jaskier’s fingers later for being so stubborn.

_Hmm._

It was odd for two different species of mosnters to be cooperating so willingly but Geralt did not give much of a damn. Killing two dicks with one sword is good enough for him. Geralt shouted for Jaskier to move away before the fiery flames of his _Igni_ snaked towards the rotfiend. Jaskier quickly rode on Roach, looking back with worried orbs of blue before the fog enveloped the witcher and his prey.

* * *

“You idiot!” Jaskier huffed as he marched right into Geralt’s personal space. The lute that he had been fiddling with was left sitting quietly on the ground. Fortunately, there were no bloodied fingerprints on its pristine wood. Geralt sighed a relieved breath.

It took some time before Jaskier was finally able to let out his frustrations, prodding and poking at the witcher while he told Geralt how dangerous facing two different monsters in a thick fog is. The witcher hummed, tired and a little uncomfortable with all kinds of fluids clinging to him. A bath sounds nice.

“Come along then,” Jaskier prodded as he gently held Geralt’s hand and guided the witcher back to the town. Geralt blinked slowly, noticing that he had lost his leather glove somewhere and now he can intimately feel the bard’s lute calloused hand. It felt warm and firm. Nobody has ever held him that way.

Jaskier merely smiled, if not a little self-conscious. Geralt might be hallucinating. The brunet bard never felt self-conscious about anything. Except, there was something very peculiar about the way he walks ever so slowly, matching Geralt’s limping state; the way his lashes flutter and his heartbeat sings in a hurried tone; the way he laces their fingers togehter. It was almost... _shy_. Geralt doesn’t know what to make of it, so as always...

“Hmm.”

...he dismisses it.

It’s just too bad that the way Jaskier’s thumb brushes over his knuckles won’t leave his cluttered thoughts.

It doesn’t mean anything.

* * *

Geralt of Rivia had the occasional moments of being an idiot and maybe getting hit in the forehead by a bizzare wooden contraption is one of those.

He was in a strange town with people who likes to spend coin easily. It was obvious in the wares and goods sold in their public market. Most of it were for the purpose of glittering prettily than having any actual use. Apparently, it was also a place which appreciated the art of science and hence Geralt’s headache when a stray experiment hit him square in the face. Everyone gasped, holding their breath as they awaited the consequence of having hit a travelling witcher.

“Oh by the gods, Geralt!” called a familiar voice who was already dispersing the crowd.

“Fuck me,” Geralt cursed as he touched his bloodied wound. It wasn’t that big but it still hurt—his pride.

“I thought you’d never ask,” laughed the voice which undoubtedly belonged to Jaskier. The bard was smiling, obviously putting on a show so that everyone would not be afraid of the witcher. Of fucking course, it had to be Jaskier who was there to witness Geralt make an idiot out of himself. They haven’t even met for almost a year.

Geralt grimaced, “Hmm.”

Jaskier tilted his head, eyeing the witcher’s wound before gesturing for Geralt to lean down. “Oh, you poor thing! They say the market is a dangerous place.”

The witcher was not to be fooled and knew Jaskier’s teasing and sarcastic tone. Geralt glared at the bard, despite his face getting smooshed between calloused hands.

Jaskier laughed loudly, his delight evident in the crinkle of his eyes. Geralt would have punched him in the gut but he was surprised when a soft peck landed on his head.

“There,” Jaskier smiled warmly, ignoring the scandalized gasps of the ladies and conservative old hens behind him. “Kisses always make the pain go away.”

Geralt closed his eyes, willing his slow beating heart not to change pace.

It didn’t mean anything.

* * *

There were a few blessings in Geralt’s life, if there were any, and if he were asked what sort of things he considered as boons, he’d say moments of silence and utter peace. However, destiny had a strange humor and now silence was more of a curse than a blessing. The lack of the bard’s voice or the playful tune of his lute only brings memories of Geralt’s moments of failure.

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

“You’re quiet,” Geralt grunted as he urged Roach on through snow covered grounds. They had been trekking this road for hours and it’s only a matter of time before they have to seek shelter again. The sky’s ominous clouds grumble lowly in the distance.

Jaskier snorted and kicked a stray pebble just because he was in a foul mood, “Why do you think that is, Geralt? It is absolutely freezing and my throat would surely be hoarse if I tried to carry a conversation. Not that you’d participate in it joyfully.”

There was some bitterness in the bard’s tone and maybe Geralt deserved that.

“There is a town not too far away from here,” Geralt responded as he squinted through miles of frozen land, “We’ll stop by an inn and wait for the storm to pass.”

“There’s a storm!?” Jaskier shrieked disbelievingly, teeth chattering loudly as another cold breeze swooped down. “Oh, great! As if this couldn’t get any worse. Why not rain bloody horses while they’re at it!?”

“Careful,” Geralt smirked which only made Jaskier scowl harder. The poor bard was freezing in his worn boots, hands tucked under his armpits in a pathetic attempt to get warmer. Honestly, if Jaskier had only considered a thicker cloak then he wouldn’t be in the situation he was in now.

After a few more minutes of walking, Geralt decided that he can’t take more of Jaskier’s moaning and groaning.

“Get up,” Geralt groused, barely looking at the shivering bard who was looking at him strangely.

“Geralt, I don’t know if you’ve lost some very important marbles but as you can see,” Jaskier gestured widly to himself clumsily, “I am clearly up and walking.”

The witcher raised a brow, “I meant up on the fucking horse, Jaskier.”

Apparently that is all the prodding Jaskier needed before he was scrambling up Roach. Geralt sighed, helping up the bard as his uncoordinated limbs tried to climb up the poor horse. It was clear that the snowy weather was making Jaskier’s human body shut down. The witcher felt a little bad that he didn’t notice this earlier.

Their trip went a little slower than anticipated, with Roach having to carry more load that she was used to. Quietly, Geralt muttered words of apology and comfort to his horse while gently patting her neck. The witcher didn’t notice Jaskier’s warm smile or the way the bard slowly encircled his trembling arms around Geralt’s waist.

It didn’t mean anything.

* * *

The inn was barely any better than the outside and Jaskier was about to throw himself to the nearest hearth. Thankfully, Geralt was able to scruff him by the neck before the bard actually lost all common sense and rolled into flames and soot. The patrons of the inn didn’t even blame the poor lad.

In any case, their room was slightly better. The windows were frozen shut and there was a pitiful spit of flames going on in the fireplace by the foot of the bed. Jaskier sagged in relief but he still remained painfully quiet, barely shivering. It wasn’t a very good sign.

“Jaskier,” Geralt prodded while holding up the limp body of the bard. He wasn’t moving but there was an effort to answer the witcher. It was obvious that Jaskier would not be able to hold out any longer.

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek, “Fuck.”

They had no other choice and it’s not as if Geralt was ever conscious about nudity. He stripped the bard clean of his soiled clothes, hurriedly pulling the blankets on top of the bed so he could deposit Jaskier’s prone form there. It didn’t take long for the witcher to strip as well, and pulled on his buckles efficiently with clever fingers. Geralt did not even notice that his heart was beating a little faster.

He is not an idiot. Geralt knew that along the way, he had grown attracted to his companion in a physical level. Jaskier was easy on the eyes and seemed to have a way with worming into other people’s lives like he practically lived there for years. It didn’t help that sometimes they would have to be bare, especially when bathing in the woods. That wouldn’t have been an issue if Jaskier wasn’t particularly loud when he pleasures his conquests. It was a slow torture, knowing your companion’s sinful lyrical moans and smelling the stench of sex and cum on his skin.

It’s a shame, really. Geralt would have not been opposed to sharing a bed with Jaskier if presented with an opportunity. However, this kind of situation was not what he had in mind when he thought about being naked with the bard in an intimate context. The possibility of hypothermia was not a turn on.

With a sigh, Geralt covered Jaskier’s entire body with his own. The bard’s back was pressed against his chest, echoing the flutters of his beating heart. It was going to be a long night, he supposes. The heavy storm was just beginning its wails of sorrows outside, banging on the windows like an angry soul. With a pull of the heavy blankets, Geralt whispered a soft good night.

It didn’t mean anything.

* * *

It was somewhere in the middle of the night when Geralt felt soft presses of cold fingers. He pretended to be asleep, sniffing out the room to detect if there was anyone who got inside. Thankfully the smell of fire, half-clean sheets, and human skin were all that he could smell. Geralt figured Jaskier must be awake and decided to go back to sleep when the exploring fingers traced his bottom lip— almost, fondly.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked in a husky voice, one yellow eye open as he stared at Jaskier.

The bard had a tiny mischevious little smile, biting his lip like he got caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Jaskier didn’t even try to remove his fingers, still tracing the witcher’s chapped lips gently.

“Nothing,” Jaskier replied as he scooted closer, his nose almost touching the tip of Geralt’s own.

“I don’t think this is nothing,” Geralt smirked as he closed his eyes and momentarily allowed himself to get lost on the sensation of Jaskier’s skin against his.

There was a stretch of momentary silence and Geralt feared he might have destroyed something delicate. It was a small mercy that Jaskier didn’t seem too affected as the bard continued to trace the witcher’s face.

“Have you finally caught on, dear witcher?”

Geralt blinked awake, “I don’t—“

“Must I do everything in this relationship?” Jaskier complained before fully pressing himself and— _oh._

For the first time in his life, Geralt felt his mind go blank and his mouth go dry. He had fucked a lot of people before, mostly women and the occasional men. Sex for him was as easy as breathing but this feels so foreign.

Jaskier was bold and confident in his movements, tangling their legs as he pressed his nose against Geralt’s exposed neck. The witcher hissed, automatically caging the bard with strong arms and letting his hand wander through the wide expanse of Jaskier’s unblemished skin.

This is—what the hell.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Geralt gritted unknowingly, prompting Jaskier to stop his mission on covering Geralt with open mouthed kisses.

Jaskier pushed himself off, “What did you say?”

The witcher sighed deeply. He was such an idiot. All of these years he survived on very few syllables, and now that it matters, his tongue just decided to fuck with him. Jaskier was a delicate soul and brimming to the rim with love and affection. Geralt just doesn’t know how to communicate with something he doesn’t know of.

“I said,” Geralt frowned, “this probably doesn’t mean anything.”

Jaskier raised a brow, “Oh yes, my cock pressing against you while I am devouring your neck really does not mean anything.”

“ _Jaskier_.”

“No!” Jaskier interrupted with hard and pleading eyes, “Talk to me, Geralt. Please.”

And that is the hardest part, isn’t it? Talking about feelings and being vulnerable. Geralt is skilled in many things but this particular part of life is something is he clearly lacking in. There was never a need for Geralt to feel soft or warm in the vicious world of witchers and monsters. There’s only pain and darkness.

However, despite his clumsiness, Geralt tried to speak as clearly as he could. He had lost Jaskier before, lost Yennefer, and acquired a responsibility in the form of a child because he wasn’t careful. This time, he had to connect his mouth to his heart. Honesty would get him far with Jaskier. The witcher knows fully well that he can trust Jaskier.

“I’m an asshole,” Geralt grimaced— and okay, maybe that wasn’t the best way to start.

Jaskier laughed at his witcher, seeing clearly how Geralt was like a fish out of water when it comes to opening up. He appreciates the effort and tries not to say a word.

Geralt sighed and tried again. “Try to bear with me. I don’t know how to explain myself. It’s just that—I have always refused to give meaning to your touches.”

“Why?” Jaskier whispered, fingers tracing the witcher’s collar bones. He took note that Geralt still hasn’t released him from his hold—not that he was complaining.

“I thought you to be naturally affectionate,” Geralt continued. “You have always touched people freely without any judgment. I thought them to be platonic.”

Jaskier hummed, “I suppose I could have done a better job at seducing my witcher.”

“Not your fault,” Geralt smiled as Jaskier sneaked a few kisses on his nose, “I guess I just deemed myself unworthy of _that_ particular kind of affection from you.”

Jaskier looked offended, opening and closing his mouth like a gaping fish. Geralt grinned wolfishly at his idiotic expression. The bard was truly one for theatrics.

“Why would you ever think that, Geralt!?”

Geralt’s grin faltered and was replaced with a somber look.

“Because I’m a monster.”

If anything, the flame in Jaskier’s eyes burned brighter. Geralt felt himself get mesmerized by the intensity of Jaskier’s emotions. His lost look must have sparked something in the bard, promting the brunet to kiss his witcher fiercely.

_I am weak, my love._

Geralt responded in kind, biting and clawing at Jaskier like the bard was going to disappear; like he was going to change his mind once he realizes how awful it is to surrender one’s heart to a witcher. But Jaskier remained headstrong, straddling Geralt and rocking in to him with loud moans.

_And I am wanting._

This night, surely, Geralt must know that it means everything.

* * *

It took three days for the storm to finally subside. Jaskier was eternally grateful as he trudged along the hard dirt road covered in sloshed snow. Geralt was right behind him, tugging Roach away from the gossipmonger of an innkeeper who was complaining about how loud the witcher and his bard were in bed.

Good. The town would all know to stay away from Jaskier.

“Come on, love!” Jaskier happily called as he ran back to Geralt, lute clanging behind his back.

The witcher shook his head affectionately before allowing Jaskier to invade his personal space. The kiss on the cheek was a bit of a surprise even if they have done way more creative things than kissing.

“For the record,” Jaskier grinned with a finger held up high, “that meant something.”

Geralt snorted and shoved the bard jokingly.

It meant everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a sort of practice after a long time of not writing wew.
> 
> First time to write something in this fandom.  
> Hope you liked it!


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